I crawl over her body, dragging my soaked fingers across her lips before shoving them into her mouth.
“Clean them,” I rasp. “Taste what a good girl you are.”
She moans around them, sucking greedily, her tongue swirling over my skin, and I nearly come right there. But I need to be inside her. Now. I reach down and line my cock up to hersoaked entrance, and she’s already lifting her hips—desperate, ready for more.
I slam into her in one savage thrust.
She gasps my name, her back arching like her body was made for mine. I bury myself to the hilt, grinding into her like I want to fuse us together.
I brace on my elbows, my mouth dragging across her cheek to her jaw to her lips, and then I whisper against her skin, “Say it. Say who you belong to.”
“You,” she breathes.
“Say it like you mean it.”
Her eyes blaze as she locks onto mine. “I belong to you.”
I fuck her hard, deep, grinding into her with every thrust. The bed slams against the wall, her moans rising with every brutal stroke.
Mine. She’s mine.
Her legs wrap around my waist, her arms around my neck, and we move like one body, one breath, one fire burning too hot to contain.
And just when I feel her start to tighten again, start to fall over the edge, I wrap my hand around her throat—not hard, just enough to hold her in place.
“Come for me, Lo. Let everyone know who fucks you like this.”
She screams my name, coming hard, shaking apart beneath me.
And I follow her.
I spill deep inside her, every muscle locked, my body grinding into hers as the orgasm rips through me, violent and perfect.
We stay tangled like that, sweat-soaked and breathless, her nails biting into my back, my lips buried in her neck.
And for a second, everything feels still.
Safe.
Mine.
A text message pings on my phone. She snuggles her ass closer to me as I reach for it. One is Bridger complaining about being downstairs waiting, and another is from my contact in Vegas.
Clay’s lawyer pulled property records from the sale of the house. Make sure there’s no paper trail to the memory care place. He hit the motorcycle shop too. Kicked over a few bikes. He’s pissed.
I toss the phone down, pull her closer, and slide back inside her. I should have known better than to think this peace would last.
Chapter Three
MARLOWE
The light filtering through the window is thin and gray—the kind that dulls the world rather than waking it. My body aches in that quiet, familiar way it does after a night spent half-sleeping, half-listening for a door that never opened.
Damian lies beside me, unmoving. One arm is bent behind his head, the other rests across his stomach. His breathing is slow and steady. A day's worth of stubble shadows his jaw. He looks peaceful.
I never heard him come in.
I watch him, trying to piece together the hours between showing Neve to the spare room and now. She and I stayed up talking in the kitchen until the clock blinked past two. Her eyes were tired, but happy. We didn’t talk about anything important—at least, not out loud. I didn’t ask why she was suddenly here. I was just glad she came.
